Paperwork
by Elianara
Summary: Greg's always enjoyed his relationship with Sherlock for what it is-casual. Maybe now though it could be more. Sherstrade with more feels than originally planned.
1. Chapter 1

_PWP that somehow grew feelings-and I'm not a bit sorry._

The pub was loud, too loud for a sober person on a Thursday afternoon. Greg glanced down ruefully at his orange juice. Most of the noise was coming from his own team, already on their third round which he was in the process of paying for at the crowded bar. John Watson weaving back through the other customers with the tray of drinks.

The conviction they were celebrating (of a particularly violent armed robber) had by no means been a done deal. Sherlock had got involved in the case, as he often did, by mooching round Lestrade's office because he was bored. A timely deduction about a gang member's ex wife had led them to the stolen goods and an impressive display of hand to hand combat skills from John had stopped two of the robbers escaping. So the flatmates had naturally been invited to the pub with the rest of the team.

John was in his element, telling a dirty joke by the sounds of things. Sherlock leaned against the bar a few paces from where Greg stood. Sober by choice as he frantically tapped his phone.

'Problems?' Greg said sipping his juice.

'Not really, I've told my brother twice I'm not going to Marseille this weekend.' Greg didn't ask.

'Why are you not getting intoxicated with the rest?' Sherlock said, not even attempting to hide how bored he was by his surroundings.

'More court tomorrow for me. Just a chain of evidence thing, probably won't even get called. Case is going to get tossed out I reckon.'

'Dimmock?' Greg nodded.

'Moron.' Sherlock hissed and the barman gave him a hostile look as he handed Greg his change.

'Going to head off shortly anyway, now I've bought a round.'

'You can give me a lift on your way.' Sherlock said, looking daggers at a new message on his phone.

'Baker Street isn't really on my way home - as you well know- but fine.' Greg said with slight irritation as they made their way towards the door, via the table where the rest of the group sat.

'I don't see how you're going to be less bored at home. You've nothing on.' A now slightly tipsy John Watson replied when Sherlock told him on the way out that he was leaving before he died of boredom.

'I'm sure I'll find some paperwork or something.' Sherlock said over his shoulder as he followed Greg out of the pub.

They hurried to the car through a cold drizzle and set off towards Baker Street, the worst possible direction for traffic. Sherlock apparently engaged in a frantic text argument with Mycroft.

' You know you're right.' Sherlock said suddenly, not looking up from his phone. 'Baker Street's not really on your way can we go to your flat instead? ' His hand came to rest oh-so-casually on Lestrade's knee.

'John's always either last man standing or first home anyway.' He continued calmly.

The older man jerked the steering wheel slightly but otherwise froze. 'It's been a while Sherlock.' He said, his voice catching.

'I know, it's more awkward these days with John.' Fingers began creeping softly up the fabric of Lestrade' s thigh.

' I only hope you don't have thin walls. It's just as well Mrs Hudson is broad minded, those noises you made...'.

'Sherlock.' Greg interrupted sharply. Driving in heavy traffic he did not need a reminder of the last time they'd done this, when he had moaned and swore them both into a sweaty sated mess on Sherlock's expensive sheets. Sherlock turned towards him, his eyes somehow managing to look innocent.

'Move your hand please.' Greg almost whispered.

'Why?' Sherlock's hand moved higher.

'One, because I don't want to have to explain to my mates in traffic that I went into the back of a lorry because I had Sherlock Holmes hand on my cock and two if you keep that up I won't last the distance. Like I say, it's been a while.'

Sherlock moved his hand reluctantly. 'In the interests of road safety...I'm not worried about your stamina though, you've never had any issues in that regard. Besides,your refractory period is quite impressive for a man of your age and lifestyle.' The detective calmly folded his hands in his lap. Greg (trying to untangle the compliment from the insult in Sherlock's last words) rerouted at the first opportunity. Concentrating hard on the road, knuckles white on the steering wheel for the rest of the drive.

He was soon pulling into the underground car park of his building, driving into his allotted awkward space with less care than normal. Sherlock leaned against the side of the car as he waited for Lestrade to get his briefcase from the boot. He was suddenly grabbed by the back of the neck and roughly kissed. He softened into it for a few seconds, before pulling back.

'Your neighbours will see us at this time of day.' Sherlock looked slightly flustered, much to Greg's amusement who casually turned his wrist where it rested on Sherlock's shoulder to look at his watch.

'With any luck. If one of them sees us it might get back to _her_ I'm shagging Sherlock Holmes. They all thought the divorce was my fault anyway, working long hours, not paying her enough attention.' He slid his hands round Sherlock's shoulders, down his chest and under his coat, fingers coming to rest on his hips. Thumbs tracing the too-prominent bones through the fabric.

'In that case.' Sherlock held his gaze his fingers going to Greg's jaw line and into the back of his hair. Their mouths joined again, wet and desperate and inelegant. Heated hard flesh pressing deliciously together through too many layers. Greg found himself with greedy handfuls of that fabulous arse before he knew what he was doing. They didn't notice the lift doors opening and it was only the sound of three inch heels coming to a sudden halt across the concrete that brought things to a dead stop. They looked up at a woman with a golf umbrella, key fob in her raised hand.

' You'll need that later, heavy showers forecast.' Sherlock said casually, putting on his fake but devastating smile and making no effort to move away. His coat mercifully covering Greg's hands from view.

The woman nodded slightly and hurried on to her car. They sniggered against each other for a few seconds.

'On the other hand I don't want to get done for lewd behaviour. Come on.' Greg picked up his briefcase and led the way. In the lift Sherlock pushed him against the mirrored wall. Long fingers cradling his head with a gentleness that belied the ferocity of the kiss. Greg stole glances at the reflection of the two of them together, finding it literally unbelievable that someone like Sherlock, who could have anyone, wanted a middle-aged cop like him.

His flat door was opened with uncooperative fingers, Sherlock's chin resting on his shoulder, breath brushing the side of his neck. Lestrade grabbed him by his scarf and playfully dragged him inside. It was far from his usual style, playful, he didn't know what had come over him.

Actually he did, he had his consulting detective back. When John Watson had appeared and he saw them together he had thought...Well what everyone thought. Now though, Sherlock was pushing him against the wall and dropping to his knees, his coat pooling on the floor and forehead resting on Greg's stomach as his fingers went to his belt.

'Sherlock, stop. I want to do this, you know, properly. I've not even got my jacket off. ' Lestrade rested his hand lightly on Sherlock's head. He slowly stood.

'Fine, never took you for such a romantic.' Sherlock shrugged out of his his coat and walked towards the bedroom dropping clothes in an expensive breadcrumb trail. Greg simply watched him go for a second.

'I assume you have the necessary?' Sherlock called back over his shoulder.

' Give me a minute.' Lestrade went to the bathroom cabinet, taking a moment to check the expiry dates on 'the necessary' (it really had been a while), before shedding his own clothes in a hasty heap on the way to the bedroom.

Sherlock was lying naked on the bed, duvet tossed carelessly to the end . The bedding, a hangover from his ex-wife's last decorative scheme, was a dark burgundy. Not really his taste (nothing had been when she lived here come to think of it) but it offset the pale, deceptively fragile looking younger man perfectly.

'Why are you still thinking? It's distracting.' Pale eyes, the usual faint irritation tempered with arousal, were fixed on him where he stood in the doorway.

'You know, the usual line is 'what are you thinking?' and since you don't ask, I was thinking you look gorgeous on my bed-I could get used to you there.' Greg moved slowly to sit beside him and ran one hand gently up the detectives thigh. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows.

'Please Lestrade, we're both clearly aroused, you don't need to seduce me.'

' I just meant it'd be nice to do this more often.' Sherlock looked at him steadily. It occurred to Greg that maybe this was not a talk to be had naked.

 _Fuck it, he'd started now._

'Maybe even,you know,keep our clothes on sometimes. Go for dinner or a walk..or something.' He got a few more seconds worth of stare before Sherlock turned away.

'You don't want me like that.'

'Maybe I do.' He persisted, picking up one hand. Sherlock looked down uncomfortably but didn't pull away when Greg gently tilted his head and pressed their lips together pulling their joined hands against his chest. It was a deconstructed kiss, drawn out, tongues lazily moving together. With them both naked and hard it seemed almost perversely chaste but it continued for long seconds , his other hand twisting in impossibly soft hair. There was no rush. He shifted to work his mouth along the neck that then stretched open for him, occasionally roughly but never enough to mark. Not that the idea of Sherlock having to cover lovebites with his scarf on a crime scene was unappealing.

He shifted onto the bed and into the comfort of Sherlock's arms. Most people thought he was cold and mostly he did nothing to contradict them but it wasn't true. In the right circumstances, like now, he could be warm and affectionate. His limbs wrapped generously around the older man, fingertips brushing down Lestrade' s back as they kissed.

'You know I'd be terrible at being a - well- _partner_.' Sherlock said suddenly breaking away. Greg shared his reluctance about the term boyfriend though he suspected for different reasons. He was too bloody old to have a boyfriend. On the other hand he was too bloody old to feel the way he felt - had felt for ages if he was honest- and not say anything.

'You know I like you, right? I mean not just this, obviously I like this.' Greg gestured over their tangled limbs. 'I like _you_ too, how intense you are, how you get into a problem like there's nothing else in the world. How much you care about the people you're close to. Even Mycroft.' That earned him a slap.

'Please don't talk about my brother when we're naked.' The detective brought one hand to his eyes as if to rub away an unpleasant image.

'Just think about it,Ok?' It occurred to Greg then that he was asking the world's only consulting detective out on a date. He hadn't actually been on an date in years. Unless you counted the charade he'd went through every time his ex wife tried to patch things up (and he chose not to count that). He had never really been on a date with a man at all. Back before he was married being bisexual wasn't exactly the way to get on in the Met so he'd kept that side of his private life clandestine. It would be an all new experience - if he'd have him.

'I will - think about it. For now though...' Greg hadn't expected a positive response at all and it threw him for a second until the beautiful (and now decidedly antsy) man below him wriggled. Opening himself up as he adjusted to allow Greg to rest between his thighs.

Greg recovered himself enough to grab the bottle on the bedside table, generously coating his fingers and making a bit of a show of running his hand over his own cock.

When he turned his attention to Sherlock he was shaky with anticipation. He took it slow, gently, with one finger before adding another as Sherlock relaxed. When he found his prostate Sherlock grew impatient. Gasping and cursing. That posh voice, swearing and begging, seemed to make Greg all the harder and it was an act of willpower to sink into him teasingly slowly. Continuing at the languid pace that he knew from previous encounters drew out both their pleasure.

'I want to see you touch yourself.' He said hoarsely . Picking up Sherlock's hand and squeezing the bottle into his palm. Sherlock was only too happy to oblige, maintaining eye contact in a way that would be unnerving under other circumstances as he slid his fingers desperately over his own erection.

Greg shifted slightly and the change of angle obviously took it to another level for Sherlock who threw his head back and tensed. 'Mmm, there.' He almost shouted, smooth voice roughening.

Greg picked up the pace in response, sensing the tension building in Sherlock's limbs. 'Fuck yes come for me, I'm close too.' He shouted breathlessly, instinct dictating the last few thrusts. The sight of Sherlock Holmes twitching cock coating his own stomach and chest was glorious and he tensed and swore with his own release seconds later.

He eased himself out of the younger man carefully and collapsed on top of him for a few seconds, getting covered in rapidly drying semen in the process.

'Be right back.' He said rolling off reluctantly and quickly disappearing to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Returning with a damp towel for Sherlock. He threw himself back on the bed, deliciously sated, and the unusually peaceful expression on Sherlock's face suggested he felt the same. When the younger man rolled over and draped himself across his chest Greg held his breath for a few seconds, in case he broke the spell.

Previously they'd always done this at Baker Street and he'd left quickly after. In the early days because of guilt that he was cheating on his wife-even if she'd been the one to fire the starting pistol in that area. Later they'd always been in the middle of a case and there was just no time for lounging in bed. Now though he had nowhere else to be. He had to be at court again tomorrow but it was barely early evening. He pulled the duvet up and as he wrapped his arms around the world's only consulting detective they both sighed contentedly.

#######

He had a slight panic as he woke up and heard the squeak of the shower turning off till he remembered. He checked his clock, they must have slept for a couple of hours. Sherlock appeared in the doorway, towel round his hips, wet hair pushed back off his forehead and Greg stared helplessly.

'Showers all yours- you should get conditioner- something decent.'

'I'll bear it in mind for when his lordship comes back next.' Greg threw over his shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.

When he was showered and dressed he found Sherlock in the kitchen sipping tea, re-dressed in his now crumpled suit.

'He nodded to a mug on the table. 'I made tea and took the liberty of ordering Chinese. You don't have much in.'

'Well I don't have a John or a Mrs Hudson.' He replied, genuinely surprised Sherlock was still there.

'True. I was thinking about the other thing.' Sherlock paused to sip his tea.

'We could go to Angelo' s tomorrow, if you're free and obviously if you still want to. I wasn't sure if you meant it or if it was just because-well...'

'I was trying to shag you? No I'd really like that.' They were both silent for a second, awkward, it was ridiculous, he'd been _inside_ the man a few hours ago.

'Hang on, isn't that the place you get fed for free? Cheap bugger- and you with a trust fund.' They were interrupted by a buzz at the door.

'I like it there. Anyway, how do you think old money gets to be old money?' The detective replied with a rare smile. 'I will get this Chinese though.'

'Too bloody right.' Greg returned the smile.

########

Sherlock had expected the flat to himself when he got back. Usually drunk John was either passed out in bed by nine or not back till the early hours. As it was, the doctor was sitting in his chair reading an evening paper.

'You're back.' Sherlock said, hanging his coat, hoping his suit didn't look too much like it had spent time on Greg's floor.

'Yeah, died a death after you left. Donovan and Anderson had an argument.' The doctor turned his page. 'No paperwork then?'

'Nothing obvious.' Sherlock replied, a little too defensively.

'How is Greg? All tucked in for an early night?' John folded his paper and smiled, eyebrows raised. Sherlock felt blood rush to his face.

'I can do deductions too you know, learned from the best. You smell just like him.'

'I've showered.' Sherlock blurted out.

'Exactly, in his body wash.' John opened the paper again and began to read. 'Like I say, learned from the best.'

 _Thanks for reading._


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't plan for this to have another chapter it sort of wrote itself while I was trying to write something else ( one of my other WIP' s -which are totally in hand by the way).I think it's standard practice in these things to do fluff first then smut but this is just how it happened.**

 **Another thing while I'm here. I'm getting very into historical AU's on the Johnlock side of the house and wondered if anyone knew of any Sherstrade ones? I have a bit of an idea for something a bit Lady Chatterley inspired (having done a lot of early 20th century reading over the summer) but I would be less inclined to do it if there is a lot of similar out there already-so let me know**

 **Thanks for reading.**

John was supposed to be at work.

For a late morning surgery John would get up at seven thirty and leave the flat by nine. It was now gone eleven and he was sitting on the sofa with his laptop, most likely tinkering with his blog. Sherlock had specifically stayed in bed to avoid him.

'There's tea in the pot.' John said, glancing up.

'You're not supposed to be here.' Sherlock snapped back.

'Good morning to you too. I changed shifts, Sarah needed me to do a swap.' Sherlock made to return to his room.

'Sherlock stop- Is this about the walk of shame last night?'

'The what?'

'I mean, you and Greg -you've never heard of a walk of shame?' Sherlock just glared.

' Never mind. I was just going to say, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Mind you..' John's tone lightened.

'The number of times I've walked in and you've told me exactly what I've been doing and who with, it was nice for the shoe to be on the other foot for a change. Seriously though- I'm happy for you mate - and Greg.'

'Thank you.' Sherlock said softly, looking up from where he'd been staring at the floor. John's face was kind and open, as usual.

 _If he couldn't talk to John..._

We're going for dinner tonight. We've never done that before.' Sherlock crossed the room and flopped into his chair.

'Right.' John sounded a bit surprised. 'So up till now it's just been..' Sherlock shot him a look that begged him not to finish that sentence.

' So, where are you going, what time are you booked?' John was looking back at his screen in a futile attempt to seem disinterested.

'Angelo's. Sevenish I suppose, I've not booked he always fits me in.'

John looked back up sharply. 'Sherlock he always fits us in at that shaky table between the kitchen and the gents. Which is fine if it's just when we can't be arsed washing up. A date is just a bit different.'

Sherlock flinched at the word 'date' and saw John's brow furrow in sympathy.

'Look, why don't I give Angelo a ring and sort it out. You...have some tea and go and decide what you're wearing or something.' Sherlock sighed loudly moving towards his room -it hadn't even occured that was something he needed to think about.

'For what it's worth, it probably doesn't matter so much when he already knows what's underneath. As long as you've made a bit of an effort.' John shouted back through the flat.

He opened his meticulously arranged wardrobe. Pulling out several shirts and suits as he listened to John on the phone.

 _Hi Angelo? It's John Watson. I was wondering if you had a table tonight sevenish- a booth would be good. Yeah-seven thirty is fine.'_

 _'No, in Sherlock's name-it's for a date.'_

 _'_ Yes, _with someone else.'_

 _'Well you don't need to be sorry Angelo- we were never a couple.'_

 _No,_ no _. I'm not actually...never mind.'_

 _'Well it might be someone you know. You'll just have to wait and see.'_

 _Yeah- thanks for that Angelo, see you soon- bye.'_

John came to stand in his bedroom doorway.

'That's that sorted-seven thirty. I think it's safe to say you'll get very attentive service.' John said grinning.

He surveyed the suits and shirts strewn across Sherlock's bed. 'Christ, you spend too much money on clothes for someone who can live in a dressing gown for a week.'

"'If you want my opinion...this and this.' John picked out a light, almost silver, grey suit and a pale lilac shirt.'A bit different from your usual and brings out the colour in your eyes.' Sherlock looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'It would be good if we could both just pretend I never, ever said that.' John said looking at his shoes. Sherlock laid the selected clothes to one side, carefully putting the others back into the wardrobe.

'Thank you John.' He said quietly.

'You're welcome. Just as long as he has you home by midnight.' John threw over his shoulder, dodging a coat hanger that was flung in his direction.

After John left for his swapped afternoon shift. Sherlock found himself unbearably restless and left the flat, walking aimlessly. He had a vague notion of checking a couple of things for a cold case but mostly he just couldn't be still. He realised, after one, that he hadn't even confirmed with Greg yet.

 _How was court? Still ok for tonight? 730 at Angelo' s ok?' SH_

The response was immediate. To the point of the flickering speech bubble that indicated Greg was typing.

 _As I thought. Back at NSY doing reports. That sounds fine. Can I meet you at Baker Street though?GL_

 _Fine. See you at seven then. SH_

That was that.

He walked with more of a spring in his step- a terrible cliche but true. He'd honestly have told you that he didn't think much about Greg. (Of course he remembered his name.) That it was simply a mutually beneficial arrangement when his transport's baser urges refused to be ignored any longer. Or when the exhaustion and frustrations of a difficult case got the better of both of them.

The truth was though, he'd never deleted a single thing. He remembered the way Greg's mouth tasted back when he'd smoked (faintly of Marlboro lights-not the best but they both smoked back then) and since he'd given up (of peppermint gum and coffee). He remembered the way Greg's ribs shuddered against him, just before the older man came. He remembered their first kiss in Greg's kitchen after he'd gone AWOL from rehab.

Greg (estranged from his wife at that point) had persuaded Mycroft to let Sherlock stay with him instead of going back to the clinic. Greg had been cooking dinner, Sherlock assisting with chopping to keep his now clear but painfully brittle mind at least a little occupied.

He'd turned round in the narrow space and Greg had been facing him. His comforting presence so close but , suddenly, not close enough. Sherlock had clumsily grabbed handfuls of his shirt and pressed their mouths together. For a few seconds Greg had poured a melting heat into the kiss. Angling his body against Sherlock, fingers finding bare skin at his waist and then, just as quickly, pulling away. Morphing the contact into a chaste hug.

 _'Too soon.'_ He'd whispered soothingly into Sherlock's ear. In that moment Sherlock had felt wanted but also completely safe, the feeling was a novel one. None of his previous relationships _assignations_ was perhaps a better word-had felt that way.

It would be nearly three months later that Greg took Sherlock to bed for the first time. Eight before he dutifully decided to have one final try with his wife and ten months before Sherlock's most recent ( and hopefully last) messy relapse. The one he'd only just scraped through with hospitalisation and drips.

The significance of the timeline was so clear to him now.

 _Me too. SH_

##########

Greg turned up at 221b and, for the first time, hesitated before knocking . Mrs Hudson opened the door with a knowing look. He climbed the stairs and let himself into the flat. John was in his chair with his laptop.

'He's doing his hair.' John smiled. 'There's a lot more precision to that mess than you'd think. He doesn't just fall out of bed like that.' There was much blushing, shifting and clearing of throats as the two of them steered past the innuendo.

Greg hadn't felt this sort of awkward since he'd sat in his exes parents house, stiff on the chintzy sofa, while his soon to be father in law quizzed him on his promotion prospects. (Though he felt a stab of satisfaction as he remembered the old bastard' s snort of derision when he'd said he hoped he'd make sargeant one day.)

Sherlock appeared after a few long minutes passed. He looked incredible, lighter colours making him look younger somehow, and he smelled fantastic. Greg got up and kissed him briefly on the cheek, taking a satisfying inhale.

'Lavender and black pepper apparently, peace offering from Mycroft, well Anthea really, you know how he is.' Sherlock said , the slightest pleasing quiver in his voice.

John was suppressing a grin when they broke apart. Greg could just tell the doctor was itching to give Mrs Hudson a full update as soon as they'd stepped out the door. They may as well let him get on with it. He helped Sherlock into his coat and they said their goodbyes.

Outside,the detective hailed a cab with his usual graceful flourish. Greg found he didn't quite know how to sit. Did they touch? Would Sherlock find that weird? Stifling?

As it turned out Sherlock was having round two of the text argument from yesterday. Hands too busy and body too rigid with irritation for any display of affection to be worthwhile.

As they got out of the cab the phone's buzzing and the tapping of replies were still constant. Greg paid the fare, stopping Sherlock with a hand on the shoulder before they went inside. 'Is this life or death? What your brother wants?'

'Only in as much as everything is with Mycroft.' Sherlock admitted with a sigh.

'Well then, if you don't mind.' Greg gently took Sherlock's phone out of his hand, turning on 'do not disturb' before handing it back. For a few moments Sherlock held his gaze and he was sure he'd fucked it up, that the younger man was about to storm off in a swish of expensive coat.

Instead he leaned over and kissed Greg briefly on the lips. 'Shall we?' He said smoothly turning to go inside.

The small restaurant was busy, a few bigger groups as well as several couples. It was,starting to dawn on Greg that he was shagging a minor celebrity. Eyes turned, phones were produced and pictures covertly snapped. Greg was on the point of telling a young man who nearly blinded them with a flash exactly what to do with his iPhone when he felt a hand on his arm. Fingers sliding down over his wrist to thread through his own.

The apparently spontaneous gesture derailed his irritation and he allowed himself to be led by Sherlock as they followed an effusive Angelo (the reason Greg had wanted to meet at Baker Street-rather than get the third degree) towards the back of the dining room. They were seated in a small round booth with menus. They chose and ordered red wine, and food. Caprese salads to start followed by ravioli for Sherlock and chicken in porcini sauce for Greg who was glad of the privacy- until he wasn't.

They'd only done casual social when Sherlock briefly lived with him after absconding from rehab. Otherwise it had been strictly professional or sex. He'd always sort of wanted more but until now it had never gone that way. Now that it had, Greg had no idea what to say.

The arrival of the wine provided a slight reprieve. _Alcohol, yes alcohol would help-a bit-probably._

As they both took polite sips his nerve broke. 'Sherlock, I don't know what to talk about.' The detective regarded him like a sample he was particularly pleased with.

'Me neither.' Sherlock admitted, relief in his slight smile. Their starters arrived and they fell to eating in a, now pleasant, silence.

' Sherlock said after a few minutes. Greg glanced up to to where a young man was chatting anxiously with Angelo.

'You see that waiter-the tattoo on his forearm, amateurish, done in prison. Then there's the bulge at his ankle that suggests an electronic tag. He's worried because he's breaking the conditions of his parole by being in contact with Angelo, a former accomplice.'

' He's lucky I'm off duty-like you're supposed to be.' Greg admonished gently.

'Can I ask something personal then?' Sherlock looked up for assent before continuing. 'Your wife, why did you put up with her for so long, why did you keep going back, the last time I just couldn't see...' The waiter interrupted to collect their empty starter plates then moved away.

Greg sighed. 'I thought she was right. I had been working too long and hard, neglecting her. She'd married me. Moved away from home, I owed it to her to try.'

'The PE teacher wasn't neglecting her.' Sherlock broke in. 'I'm sorry. I just hate to see people keep making stupid mistakes it's very tedious.'

'That's not how I'd describe it.' Greg said, voice held steady. 'I'd call it heart breaking.' They both knew what he was talking about.

'The last time Sherlock,was that my fault, was that because I... left you on your own?' Greg chose his words carefully.

Sherlock took a slow breath, hands clasped in front of his face. 'No, I've thought about that and it wasn't.' Their main courses appeared and Sherlock gripped his fork between his fingers, making no attempt to use it to eat.

'The day before you were called to the hospital I had met Seb in the Street, totally by chance. We only ever had one facet to our relationship, getting high. So when he asked me to come to his flat for a party -I knew.'

'Eat your ravioli.' Greg said quietly. He'd had no intention of having such a heavy conversation, but perhaps it was better out than in as his mother used to say. He topped up the wine and they both ate a few mouthfuls. Greg vaguely wished he'd had ravioli too. It smelled almost as good as his date-almost.

Sherlock sipped his wine before continuing. 'Seb could always turn it on and off you see. He'd get just as high as me, then a few hours sleep, and he's back to running a bank or whatever he does. With me it was always all or nothing.'

'Sherlock, you don't have to..'

'No it's fine, you should know. After I'd met him that day I could have done any number of things, gone to Mycroft, Mrs Hudson-though I wasn't living there yet. I could have got on a train and went to my parents- I just didn't. it might have been because... But it wasn't your fault.' Sherlock picked up his fork and started to slowly eat -subject closed. For the want of a better plan Greg squeezed his wrist briefly. A slightly elevated pulse under his thumb.

Greg remembered the early morning call from a flustered, Mycroft Holmes. His brother was stable, on a drip, resting now. Greg remembered the sleep smeared drive across the city, running red lights and God knows what.

 _'He only just made it this time. I had the call to our parents planned.'_

'Can I pinch a bit of that.' Greg said, desperate to change the subject.

'Of course, I won't eat it all anyway.' Sherlock replied with a grateful glance. Greg forked a piece into his mouth, it was very good.

'You should try this.' Greg said, cutting a piece of chicken and sliding it through the rich sauce before moving the fork towards Sherlock, pressing two fingers to the tip of the detective's chin. He looked at Greg uncertainly but opened his mouth to be fed.

Greg had never had any notion mixing food and sex. He liked both separately-food too much these days -but he felt a distinct stab of arousal as Sherlock, still holding his gaze, closed his mouth around the fork as he took the mouthful, licking a corner of his mouth afterwards. Greg couldn't help thinking of the other uses he'd known that mouth put to and the thought was dangerously close to making his trousers uncomfortable.

Needless to say his condition was not hidden from the worlds most observant man. 'Very good.' Sherlock said smirking, his voice low and promising. 'You know you've not asked the one thing I expected.'

'What's that?'

'You know what.'

Ah that question/span. Greg sighed.

'You could just tell me.'

'I want to hear you ask.' Sherlock was enjoying this. At least the mood had lightened again.

'Ok. Have you and John ever been more than friends?' Greg asked, trying not to sound as if he was interviewing a suspect.

'No, never. I assume when you're asking so seriously you've realised John is not completely straight-but no. It's not like that. I'm sorry if you ever thought it was. If that was what... put you off.'

Greg processed the sentence slowly, nodding as he finished the last of his chicken. 'Wait-you thought I was put off?'

'Before last night- it's been more than three months. Not since before the case with the woman with the phone.'

'Greg went through cases in his head. Too bloody many. 'Oh - you mean 'the study in pink'.br /'Oh God, you people read the blog too? Yes that one-I thought you'd gone off me.' Sherlock finished quietly.

The waiter came to clear their plates. Granting Greg a thinking space as they declined dessert and ordered coffee. _He'd been so bloody stupid._

'I'm sorry, I've never went off you. If anything the opposite.'

'It's just we never spoke, never did anything like this.' Sherlock gestured with one hand. 'I know I'm difficult.' He finished with a hint of dejection that Greg felt incredibly guilty for. They both thanked the waiter as coffee arrived.

Greg nearly upset the cups as he reached across to grab Sherlock's hand. ' You were always my difficult.' The line sounded incredibly cheesy, even to his own ears but Sherlock seemed to more than like it. He smiled and blushed and his expression was just sexy and _glorious_.

Greg was suddenly grateful for the circular bench and slid round beside him, pressing thigh to thigh and leaning in to kiss him. He ignored the small but appreciative audience out of the corner of his eye, which now included a chef along with Angelo and the tagged waiter.

Sherlock was keener than he expected leaning in so close that he was all but climbing into Greg's lap. Now he was thinking about it every other time they'd done this that's exactly what would have happened. They weren't used to doing this in public. At home, by now, he'd have one hand on Sherlock's arse and the other..a time and a place. He didn't need that line of thinking quite yet. Not when he didn't have a Belstaff to hide behind. He pulled away.

'Drink you're coffee, don't want you falling asleep on me.' He said, Sherlock moved away, slightly flustered.

'You want me to come home with you then?' Sherlock said, lifting his cup. 'I'll just pay the bill.'

 **Sorry if you read this a few hours ago when it was nonsense. Copy and paste went a bit crazy.**


	3. Chapter 3

After a little good natured arguing with Angelo Sherlock did pay the bill. The restaurateur winking and patting them both on the back as they walked out into steady drizzle.

'It's a long time in my company, even John struggles with two nights running sometimes.' Sherlock said neutrally, looking towards the vacant cab he was flagging. They'd had several quiet minutes waiting.

'I know, he's told me.' Greg smiled as he held the cab door open. They were joking, sort of, time would tell.

The heat of the kiss in the restaurant had faded to a pleasant glow and they sat in silence during the drive to Greg's building. It was only when the flat door closed behind them and they'd shed damp coats that Sherlock wrapped his arms around Greg again. A soft, shy kiss but really more about the embrace, warmth and pressure. Greg sighed, sagging slightly. He tried to remember the last time he'd been just hugged and was embarrassed to remember it had been Dimmock, on a drunken night out a few weeks ago.

'Good?' Sherlock whispered, rubbing a circle on his back. The tone suggested the question wasn't rhetorical.

'Yeah, be nicer lying down though.'

 _Subtle Greg._

 _'_ Sorry, didn't mean that to sound like it did. I've said it before but I don't just think about you like that. I...'

'Not _just_ like that.' Sherlock's hands slid lower, pulling their hips together. 'Come with me.'

They made their way to the bedroom hand in hand. It wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to see Greg had been cleaning. As well as changing the bed after last night's activities he'd gone a bit mad with lavender pledge and the Hoover and the place looked as nice as it had in a long time.

'Overdressed I think.' Sherlock said, shedding his clothes without a trace of embarrassment. (God knows Sherlock had nothing to be embarrassed about) Greg followed suit and they met on the bed, perhaps a little less certain of themselves than yesterday. Taking their time.

Sherlock settled himself, all long wonderfully heavy limbs, almost lying on top of him. His hands running everywhere while they kissed. The detective moved between slow licks into his mouth and working teeth and tongue over his pulse point and collarbone. He should probably remind Sherlock of their no marking rule but it felt too good to care. Besides they couldn't keep it a secret for long, not if they wanted to give this a proper go.

 _Don't get ahead of yourself._

He was pulled away from that thought by the sensuous drag of Sherlock's erection across the thin skin over his hip bone. The spark of electricity Greg felt, Sherlock obviously felt too. With a feral glance at him Sherlock shifted to rest between his legs, the height similarity working to their advantage as their erections lined up, trapped between them. Sherlock, seemingly instinctively,grinding against him as their mouths moved together with growing urgency.

He ran his hands over Sherlock's lean back pushing up into the frantic, fluid motion. Working his way to the contrastingly lush flesh lower down to better press back against Sherlock. It was starting to feel very good, a promising warmth growing in his belly, when he felt the detective hesitate a little, pull back.

'OK?' He whispered, pushing curls away from Sherlock's ear.

'Yes, just-I'm a little sore today ...'

 _Of course._ They'd never been together often enough before for that particular practicality to be an issue. Though, today, Greg hadn't had any expectations in that direction anyway.

'I don't know about you but I was coming along nicely with what we were doing.' He punctuated that with a squeeze which had Sherlock drawing a satisfyingly shaky breath.

'Although, if you were amenable one day...' Greg let his fingers drift between them to brush along Sherlock's cock. Having Sherlock resting between his thighs, Sherlock's arousal full and heavy against his belly he found he wanted to be taken. To feel the younger man spill inside him.

Before things had been so sporadic, he'd never thought about why Sherlock had always seemed to want to be the one penetrated, he'd assumed he preferred it. Now, he wondered if maybe he'd just thought that's what Greg had expected because his lips twitched into a smile. Sherlock moved his own hand between Greg's legs, letting one finger briefly, thoughtfully, circle his opening.

'I'd like that. Have you...before?' Sherlock said, adorably hesitant.

'Not recently but I'd like to-with you.' He pulled Sherlock back down into a messy, affectionate kiss. Pressing them tighter together and meeting every movement of Sherlock's slim hips with his own. His hands squeezing into the the firm muscle of Sherlock's arse.

It wasn't long, almost too soon, before he felt tension peak and then ebb away under his hands as Sherlock came, the wet warmth flooding his skin, a silken moan rumbling between them. He wasn't quite there yet himself, teetering on the edge. Sherlock, flushed and bright-eyed, shifted onto his side, legs draped over his before wrapping slim fingers around his cock and beginning to stroke. There was something very intimate about it, the way Sherlock was propped on one elbow, gaze flitting between Greg's face and his, now leaking, cock. The evidence of Sherlock's own climax still smeared on both their skin.

'I have you.' Sherlock murmured, moving to brush a hand through Greg's hair. Not at all a Sherlock thing to say, to do. Greg would wonder later if he even knew he was saying it.

'Keep doing that- keep talking.' Greg said, breathless, starting to feel the shift in tension that meant he was very close.

'What you said, I'm looking forward to being inside you.' Sherlock breathed close to his ear. The detective's hand continued stroking steadily. 'How you'll feel. You're going to tell me exactly what you want and...'

 _Yeah, that would do it._

Greg tensed and came harder than he ever remembered from a hand alone at the thought of Sherlock taking time to prepare him and then fucking him slowly.

As he came down he fumbled to pull Sherlock closer. The detective laughing as he resisted trying to avoid spreading the mess that covered Greg's stomach and his own hand.

'Flannel first.' Sherlock said business like, disappearing off to the bathroom. He returned with a hot flannel and rather than handing it to Greg he gently wiped him clean.

'Will you stay?' Greg said. He wanted him to badly. There was though, Sherlock's boredom threshold to consider. Now sated, it may be he wanted to get back to some experiment or other.

Sherlock lay down and Greg pulled him onto his chest. 'You'd like me to?'

'Yeah, I think so.' Greg replied, more casually than he felt. 'Its early yet, we could have another glass of wine and watch some telly or whatever. I'm not working tomorrow. You?'

'Nothing that won't keep. I should let John know.'

Greg suppressed a smile at that. 'Good. I can make you eat in the morning.'

Sherlock reached for his jacket to get his phone and tap out a quick text. Showing Greg a winking smiley he got in immediate response.

'Only thing is, I'm a bit older than you and- well..' Greg stuttered a little, reddening.

'You want to tell me it's likely to take you longer to get another erection than it will take me.'

That was rather blunt for Greg's ego but, as ever, accurate.

'I shouldn't worry my libido tends to be unpredictable. Well, you know that already.' Greg did. The cold shoulder for weeks sometimes and then, suddenly, pinned to the wall of a Scotland yard stationary cupboard by six foot of consulting detective.

They rounded out the evening watching _Dad's Army_. Sherlock in borrowed pyjamas. They had started with _CSI_ but Sherlock picking holes in the forensic procedures got a bit much. Greg had opened a bottle of wine that'd been knocking about since Christmas. While he was happy enough to have a beer by himself wine always felt like it was for sharing and this was the first chance he'd got.

'Hang on, what do you mean about John not being completely straight?' The question,pushed to one side at the time, drifted back into Greg's brain unbidden as he watched an ad for car insurance. Other than his obvious (and now he knew thankfully platonic) adoration for Sherlock Greg had never noticed John look at a man.

Sherlock gave a low laugh. 'I was wondering when you'd come back to that. The first case I took him along on, we were sitting in Angelo's watching the Street. Except it was only me watching the Street properly. John was too busy making eyes at a rugby playing accountant sitting at the back. It threw me a little, I thought he was straight. When he started asking about my personal life I got the wrong end of the stick-so to speak.' Sherlock fiddled with the stem of his glass, before glancing up sheepishly.

'Mostly it's women but every so often someone catches his eye. Before you ask I'm decidedly not his type. Too skinny, too pale.' Greg pulled him across the sofa to roughly kiss his hair.

Just after midnight Sherlock fell asleep on his shoulder. Since John insisted that Sherlock didn't so much go to sleep as collapse from exhaustion Greg took this development as a massive compliment. He let the detective rest there until his shoulder went numb before coaxing him to bed.

Just for sleep this time.


End file.
